


can I make it any more obvious

by Ink_stained_quills



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Other characters will show up later, but isn't he though, daisy is an ally and that's the end of it, dancer!Langa, if you think this is bad wait till i hit plot, langa is a dancing genius not a skating genius, langa sucks. not kidding, miya is (not) reki's brother, reki is the bomb dot com, reki's not a genius but he's better than normal people, takahashi is gonna be important to the plot if i'm not a coward, they're all friends and it's great, yes i am this cliche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_stained_quills/pseuds/Ink_stained_quills
Summary: “Hm,” Reki says thoughtfully, moving around Langa.  “Hmm.”He studies him up and down, eyeing his foot placement, posture, and balance.  The complex look of anticipatory fear on the guy’s face is almost endearing.“It’s as I suspected!” he declares, clapping his hands together.  “You suck.”sk8er boy au - reki skates.  langa does ballet.  see the title.
Relationships: Chinen Miya & Hasegawa Langa, Chinen Miya & Kyan Reki, Hasegawa Langa & Nanjo Kojiro | Joe, Hasegawa Langa & Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom, Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki, Kyan Reki & Nanjo Kojiro | Joe, Kyan Reki & Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 20
Kudos: 112





	1. he was a punk, she did ballet

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i'm literally pausing work on my actual novel to write this, cause i like this show and i do what i want. updates should be weekly? this shouldn't go on for too long anyways. maybe 4 chapters, who knows.

When Reki is twelve, he gets on a skateboard for the first time. There’s nothing remarkable about it - he steps on, heart pounding as the man he borrowed it from looks on. He’s a stranger, nice enough to let some kid try his board but not nice enough to steady it under him. Or maybe it’s preparation. Maybe he can see the way the sport will bite Reki and hold him fast.

He places one foot on, and it rocks underneath him. Precious seconds are wasted with a glance toward the owner, who looks back, amused. Gritting his teeth, Reki hops on. There’s the lurching sway as he moves forward, inch by inch, his body tipping with surprise.

When he falls, for the first time, the man doesn’t step in. Reki skids along the ground for a brief moment, gravel imbedding into his skin. Instead of consoling words - an insult, at this point - the board’s owner waits to see if he’ll get up on his own. He does, and is rewarded with the bare bones of a smile.

Knees scraped, pride faintly bruised, Reki gently kicks the skateboard back to him. He earns a knowing look in return, as well as directions to the nearest skate shop.

“Tell Oka I sent you,” the man suggests, lifting a hand in farewell as he sails down the street. The cap that covers his dark hair should blow off, but doesn’t.

Reki watches him go, something hungry burning in his chest.

So he goes - shows up at Oka’s door the very same day, wanders around the shop touching everything he’s not supposed to, and finally lands on the single shittiest rig in the place. Oka watches him watch the board.

“Some guy told me to come here.” Reki offers at last. “Didn’t give me a name. He had black-brown kinda hair, I think - his board was pretty boring compared to these.”

“Takahashi…?” Manager Oka starts, rising from where he’s propped on his elbows, remembers himself then sinks back down. His demeanor shifts from confused and serious to teasing. “Got any proof?”

In answer, Reki holds up his bloody arms.

“Definitely Takahashi,” Oka grumbles, bustling out from behind the counter. He snags a first aid kit from the shelf, clearly left in easy reach - and that should clue Reki in, should scare him off. It doesn’t. Oka cleans and bandages his arms, sighing all the while.

“I want to learn,” Reki states definitively. 

Oka eyes him. “I can’t teach you. And I certainly can’t give you a board for free. The one you were looking at is still being worked on, and skateboards are hardly inexpensive.”

Reki deflates, and Oka rubs his chin. “But I have been looking for help. If you’re a hard worker?”

“I am,” Reki promises immediately, because while he might not show it academically, he likes learning. When it’s something he thinks is useful, that is.

“I guess we’ll see about that, then, starting Monday.” Manager Oka says, smiling, and Reki beams.

“Thank you!” he chirps, dashing out of the store. “I’ll teach myself!”

There’s an aborted noise from inside, but it’s quickly discounted by the slap of his feet as he runs home. _Soon,_ he thinks, _I’ll hear whirring under my feet instead._

__________

Reki’s back, bright and early, the following Monday. (Bright and early after school, that is. He’s not _that_ stupid.) Manager Oka looks up and smiles when he enters the store, which is good - it never occurred to him to feel trepidation, but now he’s relieved nonetheless.

“Want to learn how to do inventory?” Oka asks, and Reki bobblehead nods up and down.

Fifteen minutes later, and Reki very much does _not_ want to learn how to do inventory. It’s boring, and terrible, and full of meandering excuses for instructions. He’s choked on clouds of dust at least six times already, and it’s taking all he can to sit still. His ADHD is going _wild._

Then Oka moves on to categorization by types of skateboards, and something just - clicks. Instead of frantically attempting to make the information stick in his brain, it comes easily, fluidly. The subtle differences are glaring. Recollection is, for once, simple.

Oka stares at him in disbelief when he comes up with a new organizational structure. “Sure, we could rearrange the wheels, but -”

“Frequency of use is more important than alphabetizing,” Reki insists.

“Well.” his manager says. “Alright then.”

So it goes on like this for a while: Reki works at the shop, practices the actual act of skating, and gradually gravitates to making boards instead of selling them. He’s about fifteen when he spots another skater in his area, coasting slowly. They stop in front of the shop and make direct eye contact.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“You,” he says slowly, straining to recall a blurry face.

“Me,” the man - _the_ man - agrees, serious as always. He tosses something at Reki, who fumbles to catch it, and offers a nod to Oka.

Oka scowls. “Are you sure? He’s only -”

“He’s _already_ fifteen,” he contradicts. Casually, he turns from the store doorway, slides fluidly onto his board, and takes off with a final glance back to Reki. “‘S’ is waiting.”

“‘S’?” Reki repeats, gaze flitting to Manager Oka.

“It’s… a skating race,” Oka explains reluctantly, eyes locked onto where he’s polishing the display cases. “A dangerous and illegal one. I hadn’t intended to bring it up for another few months.”

“And he thinks I could be in it?” Reki asks, heart pounding, fingers gripping his shitty little board.

“He certainly thinks something,” Oka mutters. Then he pastes on a smile. “Yeah, kid. He gave you that, didn’t he?”

He jerks his chin at the thing clutched to Reki’s chest. Upon further examination, he pulls out a badge of some kind. His entrance ticket. It’s a large ‘S’ symbol, vague enough that he can play it off as being related to something completely innocent, but emboldened to leave no room for doubt in the eyes of experienced skaters.

Reki shoves it in his bag, tells his mom he’ll be out late Saturday night, and leaves it at that. For about two years.

__________

Langa bites his lip and stares at the sign up sheet.

There’s no reason to be nervous - of course there isn’t, he’s been doing this for how long exactly? - but he is anyway. This is only determining where he’s going to be using as a study point for the next few months, after all. And he’s good (he knows he’s good, can feel it in the pull of his legs and the stares of his peers). So everything is fine.

Still, his hand almost shakes as he takes the pen.

Just moments ago, he’d been listening attentively like the rest of his ballet class as their instructor explained the year’s exercise. There were groans from those specializing (and technically that was all of them - isn’t that the point of dance school? Why he moved? Because if it wasn’t, then doesn’t he need to admit it’s about escaping the specter of his father?), but he’d remained unfazed.

Langa repeats her words in his head. _Pick a different type of dance. No, Akari, it can’t be irish dancing if you’re specializing in irish dance. I know you just take my class because it’s required. This has to be something you don’t work and strive to improve, something you can form an emotional connection to out of indifference. You’re going to write down a space in which you can observe your environment, then make a dance out of it blending your chosen style with ballet, which you will perform before the class for a grade._

 _Please, Lia, don’t come in with one of your crazy outfits again. That most certainly did_ not _count as a leotard._

And now he’s here, pen in hand, writing down ‘hip hop’ as his chosen dance alternative. Hip hop out of ballet. 

Where on earth is he going to go.

“You’re doing hip hop?” one of the girls offers - Langa thinks her name is something like Daisy? He nods. “My cousin knows this skate shop, if you wanted to check it out.”

“A skate shop?” he repeats.

Daisy bobs her head up and down, extending her legs and stretching downwards to touch the floor. “She gets her board fixed there every so often. Says they’ve got a good environment - skaters coming in and out, occasional impromptu moves. It could be a cool study location.”

“I might check them out,” Langa thanks her, moving into his own stretches. She smiles brightly, picks up her bag, and heads to her next class. He watches the closed door.

… now he has to ask her about it later. Crap.

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Hey, could I get the address for that skating place?

 _ **from: Langa**_  
It’s Langa, from ballet.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
o yea np!

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
should b here (location)

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
ik who you are lol

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Oh, whoops. Thanks again

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
i gotchu :)

The skate shop is kind of loud.

Langa supposes it wouldn’t be so noisy if people just - how to put this - stopped screaming at each other, but perhaps in this environment that’s ridiculous. It certainly seems ridiculous to expect in this moment, as a redhead about Langa’s age bickers noisily with a man wearing a face mask. Maybe he’s actually being robbed.

“I’m being robbed here, Shadow!” the boy complains, jabbing his finger at the board. Langa contemplates calling the police.

The man, who must be named Shadow, unless that was somehow a devastating insult, fires back with “Kid, I paid the amount you asked for. C’mon, my manager’s expecting me back in -”

“I lowballed the estimate,” the boy argues. “Besides, I upgraded it!”

“You always do that,” Shadow grumbles, “and I never ask you to, and it throws me off for days.”

“It’s so much better now, though.”

“Reki,” a new man calls from the other side of the store, “Just challenge him to a beef over it.”

Now they’re arguing over meat? Japan is weird. Langa decides to walk over to a small animal looking thing and pet it, seeing as it’s the sanest living creature in the room. It chirps at him.

“Maybe I will!” Reki says defiantly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Shadow challenges, sweeping up his board and stalking out the door.

“Sorry about that!” Reki greets him, cheerful. “Shadow likes to complain.”

“... I see,” Langa replies, because how else is he supposed to respond. “I’m here for - the ballet study?”

“The _ballet study,_ ” Reki repeats, head dropping to study him from under his lashes. “You’re a ballet dancer?”

“No,” Langa deadpans, “I work construction for a living.”

The other boy looks confused for a brief moment, which makes the man in the back snort, then flushes crimson. “Oooooh. Sarcasm! For that, I’m putting you on a skateboard.”

“You would have done that anyway,” the man drawls.

“Please don’t do that,” Langa begs at the same time.

“You’re in a skate shop, dude,” Reki grins. “What else’re you gonna do?”

 _Anything but this,_ Langa thinks to himself. He throws a desperate look at the blond guy, but Reki makes this _ohoho_ sound and grabs him by the arm.

“Not so fast!” he crows, swiping a board from the rack and towing Langa out of the store.

_I just wanted a quiet place to rehearse._

__________

“Hm,” Reki says thoughtfully, moving around Langa. “Hmm.”

He studies him up and down, eyeing his foot placement, posture, and balance. The complex look of anticipatory fear on the guy’s face is almost endearing.

“It’s as I suspected!” he declares, clapping his hands together. “You suck.”

“Can I leave then,” the kid says long sufferingly.

“Of course not, it’s been two minutes,” Reki scoffs. “Of course you’re gonna suck. I haven’t shown you anything.”

“And I would prefer if that trend continued.”

He tips his head back and laughs, hands on his hips, and realizes that Miya would have smacked him over the head by now. Maybe he’ll bring this guy to Miya, or ‘S’ - man, wouldn’t that be hilarious? He can just picture it.

“Wait, dude,” Reki stops laughing. “I never got a name. You somebody’s kid brother, come to spy on me?”

The guy sighs, but doesn’t get off the skateboard. “Why on earth would I - I’m seventeen.”

“And I’m Reki!” He sticks out his hand.

“I heard.” A long suffering sigh. “I’m Langa.”

Langa extends his own hand to shake Reki’s, wobbles, and tumbles off the board. Reki laughs until he cries.


	2. what more can i say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more characters! langa actually has other friends (well, friend)! foreshadowing and general tomfoolery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I say weekly updates? hahahahah I meant whenever the heck I want

Langa is locked in the back room of the skate shop.

 _You’re_ what, his mother would say if she knew. _Honey, why would you - how - that’s it. You’re carrying your phone with you at all times._

Except she wouldn’t, because she has very sweetly been trying to give him space, and he’s been giving her space, less sweetly, because he’s a teenage boy, and also he locked himself in on purpose.

Reki is a terror on wheels. Every day for the past week, Langa has shown up ready to dance. Ready to watch the moves of skaters and translate it to music, to portray their flowing grace in a different way. He’s awed by the talent he’s seen, and wants to showcase it through another medium.

Actually skating, on the other hand, is different. It’s clumsy and slow and Langa’s never done anything like it before, which means he sucks. It’s been so long since he tried something new that he’s forgotten what sucking at something feels like - evidently, not very good.

Because Daisy is in a dissimilar but equally dissatisfying boat, they’ve struck up a correspondence. Oka has informed him that he sounds like a robot when he says that, so Langa now takes the time to make direct eye contact with him and talk about _texting his pals, yo_ whenever his phone leaves his pocket. Sometimes he throws in a _yeet_ for good measure.

Reki always laughs when he does that, which has no bearing on the situation whatsoever, especially because he’s literally locked himself into a storeroom in order to get away.

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Can you sue someone for skateboard harassment

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
uhhhhhh you’d have to look that one up dude

 _ **from: Langa**_  
I might have to spend the rest of the hour in here. Possibly the rest of the month.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
‘in’?

 _ **from: Langa**_  
The storeroom.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
… what storeroom, buddy?

 _ **from: Langa**_  
The one I’ve locked myself into.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
you seem like a sane man

 _ **from: Langa**_  
I’d like to think so but consistent exposure to Reki has dulled my capabilities

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
do i wanna know

 _ **from: Langa**_  
He wants me to go down stairs. On a skateboard.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
k ik this is serious and obvs don’t get sent to the hospital

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
but if you do can i get a vid

 _ **from: Langa**_  
No

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Go swing on your trapeze

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Maybe but only if it looks cool

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
i’ll take it

“Langa?” Reki’s voice trickles in through the door. In response, Langa flees to the back of the room, hiding behind boxes, and winces when he hears the jingling of the doorknob.

 _ **from: Langa**_  
HE’S AN EMPLOYEE

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
we been knew…?

 _ **from: Langa**_  
HE HAS KEYS TO THE STOREROOM

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
don’t forget to send my my video :p

 _ **from: Langa**_  
Did you somehow rat me out.

 _ **from: Daisy**_  
ooooh methinks my trapeze is calling

With a final rattle, the door to the storeroom flies open, casting light from the showroom’s open windows. Reki perches in the doorway and peers in. “You here, dude?”

Best not to prolong the inevitable.

“Yes,” Langa replies, popping up from behind the shelves. Reki jumps and presses a hand to his heart. But he doesn’t question it - doesn’t look at Langa with that slowly dawning _you’re too strange to hang out with_ look in his eyes, and instead beckons him back out, whistling. It’s that, more than any obligation, that gets Langa to follow him.

“Today I thought we could try little jumps,” Reki suggests, lining two water bottles up beside each other. “Just… roll a bit and pop over ‘em.”

“How long did this take you?” Langa asks, eyeing it with trepidation.

“‘Bout two weeks. Super annoying.”

“How long does it normally take people, then.”

Considering, Reki scratches his face. “Uh - Miya got it in about a day or two. Cherry and Joe have been at it for so long I doubt they even remember how _not_ to do it, and Shadow probably just blows shit up.”

“Do you have any normal skating friends that are within three years of your age?” Langa demands, exasperated. Of course Reki would gravitate toward the four people that would give him the least accurate depiction of development.

A shadow crosses his face. “Nah.”

That seems to be the end of the explanation, but not the story. Langa doesn’t press, instead turning to his phone. The internet, apparently, has lots to say about skating, such as the fact that jumps can take _up to two months_ to learn. Two weeks is, in fact, typically the minimum. Fucking Reki.

“Are all the other skaters terrified of you, then?” he grumbles, climbing onto the board.

“What?” Reki laughs, waving him off. “The others, hell yeah. Me? I’m, like, the most average dude in the whole -” he pauses, then finishes lamely, “in the whole town.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You’ll see,” he says, nonchalant. “Now try and jump over those suckers.”

Langa sighs and lines up his board. Slowly, he moves forward, then faster, picking up speed, until he’s coming up on the bottles. He puts pressure on the back of the board, lifting the front off the ground and thus over the obstacle, then -

Then, nothing, because his carefully constructed plan falls apart when he can’t lift the tail end up quick enough to avoid it barrelling into the plastic, sending him flying. Langa’s shoulders go up to his ears in a last-ditch attempt to shield his head, and his arms scrape painfully against the ground. He’s thankful for thick jeans.

“Ow,” Reki says, ambling over. “You good?”

 _No,_ Langa thinks, _not good, because my arms are stinging and I’ve got dirt in my eyes and I’m not good at skateboarding so_ why do you keep making me _and -_

He makes the mistake of looking up, of noticing Reki’s outstretched hand. The skateboard rolls slowly beside him, and one of the plastic bottles bumps against his foot, but he doesn’t bend to pick it up. Instead, his attention is fixed solely on Langa.

And Langa knows he’s not good - knows from the pull in his legs that shouldn’t be there and the stares of other skaters that use the park to practice. But Reki’s still looking at him just the same as he did on that first day in the store.

 _Not good,_ Langa realizes, _because I’m going to get back on that damn board as many times as it takes._

“Yeah,” he says aloud, accepting the hand up. “Show me first, this time.”

__________

Reki is kind of freaking ecstatic. Sure, the guy sucks, and sure, he locked himself in the backroom in an attempt to get out of practice (Reki’s hyper, not _dumb_ ), and sure, he looks like he’s being stabbed with a knife every time he gets on the board. But he’s still showing up. He’s still following out to the skate park, even though he knows why they’re there.

Some might even say he’s grateful.

“Am not,” Reki denies reflexively. “For what?”

“For the fact that, for once, you’re the teacher to someone other than yourself.” Manager Oka replies. They’re closing up for the night. They send Langa home at least an hour before, each day, so that they have time when they can discuss ‘S’ and anything else Langa isn’t privy to.

“You hang out with such great skaters that it’s nice to be reminded how far you’ve come,” Oka theorizes, sweeping the floor. “It’s a pride thing.”

“This isn’t a _pride thing,_ ” Reki scoffs, leaning with his chin on his own broom. “It’s just a ‘taking pity on someone who hasn’t seen the joys of skating’ thing.”

“Joys indeed,” Oka says wryly.

“What,” Reki asks. No response. “What?”

“Don’t you have to get homework done before ‘S’?” Oka needles, tugging the broom out from under his chin. “Or maybe a nap?”

“I’ll make Miya do my homework,” Reki jokes, ducking out of the store as Oka throws a dustpan at him, calling “He’s a skating genius, not a math genius!”

He walks home, whistling, and gets a grand total of seven math problems done before he’s lured out of his room with the promise of snacks. Reki’s little sisters swarm him, and soon he’s roped into a game of dress up (of which he’s the moderator. His comments are nice, unless it’s the eldest, at which point he mocks her mercilessly).

Dinner comes quickly, followed by a hurried essay draft and lights out. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, for a while, counting the minutes in his head, and calculates how much sleep he’s likely to get. At last he dozes off.

Vibrations on his stomach drag him into wakefulness, alarm set to allow an hour until ‘S’ really begins. Reki throws off the sheets, grabs his board, and scrambles out the window. It’s a pleasantly cool night, breeze whisking at his hair as he travels. The gates open with a quick flash of his patch.

“You’re late,” Miya says, eyes flicking to him once, then away. “Cherry and Joe have been bickering for twenty minutes.”

“You’re early,” Reki counters, then, “Sorry.”

It doesn’t matter that they know they aren’t serious arguments. Reki knows it still reminds Miya of his parents, first yelling, then the inevitable split. Reki doesn’t like to leave him alone when it happens.

“I’m here!” he calls to them, throwing a hand above his head. He catches a few envious looks from other skaters - sees how they watch him interact easily with some of the top skaters, how they wish they’d been the ones to pull Takahashi into their corner. _The pride comes before the fall,_ Reki reminds himself, _and they’re not here for you._

Of course, Takahashi himself hasn’t been around much. Maybe he never was, and he came back to get Reki settled in. It’s a nice thought, if untrue. 

Cherry and Joe cross to meet them. Joe, as always, smiling that sideways grin at his fans. Cherry, also as always, refusing to make eye contact with anyone outside their little group. Reki remembers it being like that with himself in the beginning - like Cherry had time for Takahashi, and Joe, and nobody else.

But he’d worked his way in, little by little, and Takahashi had sort of pushed him on the two older skaters. A year later, he’d shown up with twelve year old Miya. Shadow had been about convenience, more than anything else: he came to get his board done one day, and sort of never left.

“Hey, Reki,” Joe greets.

Cherry, head tilted just so and shoulders aligned just right, inclines his chin. “Have you given any more thought to calligraphy classes?”

“Uh… I’ve been kind of busy lately, actually,” Reki stammers, and it’s not even a lie!

“Riiiiight,” Miya drawls. “Busy snapchatting me with clips of this blue haired kid failing. Why are you wasting time with that slime?”

“Langa isn’t a slime,” Reki frowns, reconsiders. “I mean - we were all that bad once, right?”

Miya shrugs. “For like, a day.”

“Well, some of us aren’t geniuses -” Reki starts up, ready to beat the well-worn path of this argument again, as Miya smirks at him.

“He’ll do well enough under Reki’s guidance,” Cherry interrupts.

“And if he doesn’t, then the kid just sucks!” Joe agrees, laughing heartily. “No great loss.”

Except it would be a bit of a loss, wouldn’t it? No more dry jokes as he wobbles back and forth, no more hilarious clips to send to Miya, no more - well. No more Langa. And Reki supposes he does have to let the guy practice some sort of dancing eventually.

“Let’s skate!” he says instead, propelling Miya forwards as the boy hisses, and the older skaters exchange looks they think he can’t see over his head.

“Reki,” Joe says slowly, having lost the staring contest, “have you seen Takahashi lately?”

“No,” Reki replies. It’s not like that’s a big deal. Takahashi’s not always around, because he tends to “enjoy functioning in the mornings, unlike the rest of you”. Even if he was acting strange for a little while before he left. “Shadow’s not here either?”

“He’s attempting to woo his manager,” Miya explains, ducking away from Reki’s outstretched, shoving hands. 

“Who even does that anymore?”

Miya eyes him. “Well, at least _he_ knows what he’s doing.”

Reki agrees easily, sparing a glance at Cherry and Joe, then (upon seeing the glint in Miya’s eyes when he looks at Reki) complains - “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is cathartic


	3. see you later boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both dancing and skating occur despite the author having no clue about the technicalities involved in dancing or skating. gang fights(?)! gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is developing into something with plot. i'm horrified.

“What’re you putting on your progress report?” Daisy whispers, her own pencil halfway in her mouth. Somehow, she makes this look elegant. At least three people have taken one look at her and Langa, muttered ‘power couple’ under their breaths, and gotten out of their way. Daisy has yelled some variation of “I’m flattered, but not that stereotypical” every time.

“What do you think?” Langa mutters back, eyeing the empty page. “I’ve been roped into skating every day, so I haven’t gotten any chances to rehearse.”

She pats his shoulder consolingly. “Just flip the script on him. Oh, and write some bs about how you’re translating work environment ideals into physical motion.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Langa argues.

Daisy raises an eyebrow, smug. “Then why did she give me a high mark on this progress report?”

“... she’s grading these?”

“Look, Langa,” Daisy sighs, putting her hands on her hips. “You’ve gotta stand up to the guy! Tell him you’re dancing. Worst comes to worst, I ditch my study for a day to intimidate a stranger. Then you come to mine and walk a tightrope.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Langa refuses. He sits back on his heels and contemplates the ceiling. _Flip the script on Reki, huh?_

“- and that’s how you do a kickflip,” Reki’s explaining eagerly when Langa pushes open the shop door. A few little kids are hanging onto his every word, watching the way his fingers flick back and forth on the tiny board.

“Whoa,” the biggest breathes, staring at the display case. “You must be the most great!”

“Greatest,” Reki corrects, then rubs a finger under his nose. “And - aww, I’m alright.”

“He’s better than alright. He’s the best,” Langa agrees, setting down his bag and crossing to admire some fingerless gloves. In response, Reki claps his hands over his face and keens. “What? It’s true.”

And it is. Objectively, Langa’s only really seen Reki skate, and he’s certain it hasn’t been to his full potential. Whenever he starts talking about a cool move he’s seen or done, he trails off with a “... youtube, right?” and changes the subject. Langa’s starting to worry skaters have gangs.

Less objectively, Langa just really likes the way Reki skates.

“Thanks again, Mr. Reki!” the kids chorus as they swarm out of the store, popping bubblegum and chattering about skating terms. Once it becomes clear Reki isn’t going to emerge from his defensive hand cave, Langa flicks him on the forehead.

“Ow,” he complains, rubbing the spot, then brightens. “Eager to learn?”

“Are you?” Langa counters, unzipping his bag. Inside rests two pairs of dance shoes, a water bottle, and Langa’s casual dancing outfit.

Reki stares into it. “... huh?”

__________

“Huh?” Reki repeats, shaking his legs out. “How’d you talk me into this?”

“I let you stick me on a death trap for almost two weeks,” Langa reminds him. “Don’t untie your laces.”

He drops the shoe ribbons guiltily, flexing his leg back and forth at the knee. It’s clearly not his normal environment. But isn’t that what the studio is trying to foster - leaving your comfort zone, dancing in new ways and forming new patterns? Langa has been skating when he should have been dancing. Now it’s time for the opposite.

“This isn’t gonna end well,” Reki warns him, cracking his knuckles.

“First, stretch out.”

If this were a tv show, there would be a montage, Langa decides. First, Reki attempting to do a split, failing miserably. Then, in quick succession: Langa doing a twirl, Reki following after and falling over, Langa demonstrating how to hold his arms, Reki spinning them to look like clock faces, Langa pinching the bridge of his nose as Reki accepts a video call from some thirteen year old who proceeds to laugh for forty seconds straight.

“I’m going to put you in a tutu if you don’t take this next bit seriously,” Langa threatens, revolving around and around on one leg. 

Reki watches him with trepidation. “Dude, I really don’t think I’m cut out for dancing.”

“Probably not,” Langa admits, just to see Reki relax before he says “But you’ve still got ten more days.”

Dull whining comes from the puddle of mush that used to be Reki. Langa chuckles, a snort really, before he devolves into full on hysterical laughter. Exhaling at last, he straightens up and wipes a tear from his eye. He sticks out a hand.

Instead of taking it, Reki stares up at him, face frozen.

Langa tilts his head. “You okay?”

“‘Course!” he blusters, laughing too loud and too short, before leaping off the ground and scrubbing the back of his head. “We should probably close up shop soon, so you’d better get going! Ha hah, see ya tomorrow!”

“Oh. Okay.” Should he not have said that? Oh, no, maybe Reki thought he was laughing at him! Awkwardness heats Langa’s cheeks, and he clumsily pulls his hand back to his body. “Bye.”

Reki takes off running back to the shop.

__________

 _What the fuck,_ Reki thinks furiously, swiping a hand across his mouth. His face has to be red as a firetruck, right? Is it noticeable? What if everyone can just _look_ at him and know he froze up when Langa did something as basic as _laugh._

And what does that mean, anyway? That he did?

He comes to a stop, panting, and watches the closed door of the shop. His hand comes up again to rub at his eyebrow, then drops back to his side. Inside, Oka looks up, catches sight of him, and waves him in hurriedly.

“Reki,” he says, voice low and worried. “Lock the door behind you.”

Reki does as he’s told, then follows Manager Oka into the back room, where a familiar figure stands as if checking inventory. “Takahashi!”

There’s no _hey, how’ve you been_ or _sorry I disappeared_ or even _learned anything new?_ , not that he was expecting it. It’s always been like this - Takahashi will pop up, impart wisdom, and vanish again. It’s just that usually he sticks around for longer than a few minutes.

“I was surprised to find you out of the store at this hour,” Takahashi says, mouth twisting wryly. He always talks as if he’s half serious, half joking. It’s hard to figure out if he’s disappointed or amused.

“I was teaching someone how to skate,” Reki justifies immediately, irritation spreading through him at the way he desperately seeks approval. This is the man who taught him how to do flips, who watched him fall and swallow dirt, who never bandaged his cuts but always tossed him the antiseptic. _I’ve given you what you need. You can do it yourself._

Takahashi raises an eyebrow. “A friend?”

He pauses. “Maybe.”

“He any good?”

This, Reki doesn’t have to think about. “Terrible.”

A smirk and a laugh. “And yet you don’t ditch him.”

“Not everyone is as good as you,” Reki defends. The skateboard’s plasticky wheels are hot and scratched, bits of gravel finding home in his skin. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off Takahashi in order to put it down.

“Not everyone is as good as you, either,” Takahashi says cryptically. He casts his gaze around the store - unobtrusive, yet all encompassing. “Just wanted to check in with you. Is there anyone new on the scene? Anyone… abnormally good?”

“Another genius?” Reki blinks. There hasn’t been any special newcomers to ‘S’ since Miya. Maybe Takahashi thinks they’re due (and he could be right). “I think they’d have gravitated towards the others by now.”

“Keep me posted,” Takahashi says, eyes glinting hard, and starts walking out of the room. He places his hand on Reki’s shoulder for a brief moment. “If someone named Adam turns up, _come to me first._ ”

“How do I -” Reki starts, spinning frantically as the weight leaves his shoulder. But Takahashi is halfway out the door.

“You’re doing well, Reki!” his voice carries, sliding onto his board, then moves forward, sinuous as a -

“Snake,” Reki grumbles, fondly exasperated, and slides a business card out of his pocket. _For emergencies: my contact information._ “How’d he even get it in there?”

__________

“- and that’s when I ruined everything,” Langa concludes, fake nonchalaunt. Daisy swats him in the side. It’s only with practice that he’s managed to school his face, his tone - even when she pulls her punches, she’s stronger than him. “Hey.”

“Don’t you talk like that about my friend again,” she retorts. “You haven’t ruined jack. He’s the one that was weird, and then kicked you out of your work study thingy.”

“Technically I’m only allowed in there until five,” he admits.

Daisy’s eyes light up. “What happens after five? A secret society? Gang fights?”

“Mostly I think they just sweep,” Langa admits.

“Let me pretend the sweeping is a cover for gang fighting, and then we can proceed,” Daisy tells him, closing her eyes and concentrating. “Yep, there we go. Reki’s totally in a gang, and you’ve accidentally gotten wrapped up a rival one -”

“How’d I do that?”

“You owe a blood debt to somebody. It’s not important.” Daisy puts her hands over her eyes like a fortune teller, swaying, then blinks rapidly. “I foresee a reenactment of Romeo and Juliet!”

“I hope not, considering they both died,” Langa points out. Then he frowns. “Isn’t that just West Side Story?”

Daisy waves a hand. “Copyright infringement. The point is, it’s _romantic.”_

“It is not,” Langa denies, face warming, and buries himself in his phone. Unfortunately, the only people he texts are Daisy and occasionally Reki, which she takes full advantage of. There’s a hideous amount of eyebrow waggling. He shoves her face away with his hand, and she licks it.

Damn it. He’s totally got a sister now, doesn’t he. 

Shockingly, there is a new message for him.

 _ **from: Reki**_  
busy sunday/saturday night?

Langa shoves the phone into Daisy's face, and she cranes her neck to read it. “What do I say?”

“ _Are_ you busy?”

“Not really.”

She takes the phone. He’s a little glad, but a little nervous.

 _ **from: Langa**_  
No - why?

“I even did your gross proper punctuation,” Daisy says proudly. “It’s foolproof.”

 _ **from: Reki**_  
i’ll tell ya when you come to the shop saturday night lol

They stare at the response. Langa takes his phone back, disconcerted.

 _ **from: Langa**_  
… does this have anything to do with skating?

 _ **from: Reki**_  
technically?

 _ **from: Reki**_  
:( pls come i swear it’s worth it

“Of course you’re going,” Daisy scoffs, making grabby hands at the phone.

Langa shuts it off and holds it to his chest, leaning away, and she pouts. “If he tries to get me on a skateboard over the weekend _at night_ , I’ll give myself brain damage. It might even be unintentional.”

“Maybe it’s a gang fight,” she suggests again, and Langa rolls his eyes.

__________

“Is this a gang fight?” Langa demands, one foot in the door.

Reki pulls a face. “Why would I be involving you in a gang fight?”

“But you do attend gang fights in general,” Langa clarifies. Dragging a hand down his face, Reki ushers him into the store. What kind of establishment does he think this is?

“What kind of establishment do you think this is?” demands Manager Oka, and okay, it’s time to run.

“Change of location!” Reki yells, spinning Langa around and shoving him out the door, snagging a spare board as he goes. He shoves it into the other boy’s arms, hopping on his own and sailing off. Behind him, Langa shouts something unintelligible, then skitters along behind him.

He’s laughing, and Langa is cursing, and they’re on their way to ‘S’.

Reki’s not sure why he chose this week to bring him. After all, it’s only been three weeks since they met. Two weeks of teaching Langa how to skate, and failing miserably (though he’s not too far behind Reki now! That’s improvement - oh. He just hit a telephone pole, better go back). A week of pirouetting and whatever else struck Langa’s fancy in their lessons.

He supposes he just kinda wants the skating crew to know who Langa is, which is weird. It’s not like they’re stuck together forever - how long does this work study last? A month? A month and a half? It can’t possibly be long enough.

They roll slowly to a stop in front of ‘S’’s gates, and Reki turns his head to take in Langa’s expression. He’s _nervous,_ he realizes, nervous about someone else’s opinion of his secret space. No time for that. They check his badge and wave him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments spin the wheel in my brain to land on 'update'

**Author's Note:**

> i've got like one other sk8 fic btw - comments and kudos will be fed to the Bad Ideas gremlin in order to fuel the writing process!
> 
> tumblr is @snackzimmerman at the moment


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